


The Balm of Love

by bittenfeld



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Male Slash, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Slash, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a sequel to “The Medicine of Life”.  After McCoy leaves Kirk’s home, Spock shows up to help Kirk work through his pain.</p><p>Final – Chapter 2:  How many times, how very many times in all these years had Spock been there, silent support whenever needed, always giving more than he took, protecting, guiding… and how many times had Kirk neglected to thank him, compensate him… love him…?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I demand proper treatment for my men,” Kirk insisted of the Klingon commander, with as much of his own command presence as he could muster then, despite his fatigue and throbbing pain and hunger. “Since you’ve declared war on the Enterprise and taken us prisoner, I demand that we be given the proper respect due captured fellow officers. We need food, we need water…”

“I’m not interested in your needs, Kirk, or your demands,” Krugh’s dry callousness interrupted him sharply. “You’re here now to be interrogated, not issue charges.”

Kirk maintained some semblance of rebellion in his eyes, his voice. “Why, Krugh? What are you afraid of if you treat us with common respect? What can two injured humans and a Vulcan do to a ship-ful of Klingon warriors? It’s said throughout the galaxy that Klingons are great warriors with a strong code of honor. But all I’ve seen so far aboard this ship is gutter filth.”

Cold but calm Klingon eyes snapped a silent order to one of the guards behind Kirk; Kirk set himself for the riposte to his own thrust, but even so, the slam of the weapon-butt between his shoulder-blades drove him to his hands and knees, followed up by a hard kick to his tailbone delivered by a brutal steel-toed boot. With a yell and a paroxysm of agony, Kirk pitched face-forward onto the deck. Then another boot to the coccyx drove an electric shock of stunning force all the way up his spine. Kirk wondered dimly if his legs were paralyzed.

Krugh’s voice hadn't changed. “I’m not interested in your insults either, Admiral Kirk. Four years ago, our interrogation was interrupted. We’re going to continue it now. I intend to take control of your ship, Kirk. You will tell me the access codes.”

Kirk couldn’t talk even if he’d wanted to. Mouth open, gasping for air, body stunned. Lancing pain seared up his spine. At the rate, the interrogation would be over very shortly. He didn’t suppose it would be a true interrogation anyway. Krugh knew perfectly well that Kirk would never divulge that data, and Kirk knew perfectly well that Krugh could take that and any other desired date very simply with the mind-scanner. And Kirk had no illusions that that was exactly what was planned for him, and Spock and McCoy as well, once the Klingons had tired of abusing them. Angry human eyes glared up at the leather-and-metal-studded monster hovering over; human voice shuddered with barely repressed violence. “You bastard…”

A jerk of Krugh’s head, and the guard kicked Kirk in the body. Kirk grunted, eyes wide. Another kick, this time to unprotected genitals. A sharp cry shot from Kirk’s throat, followed by helpless gagging and retching. Again between the legs. Again Kirk choked down a surge of vomit. Desperately he rolled on the floor, clutching his genitals, noisily dragging air. Krugh watched him squirm.

After twenty-five years of conflict between the two heavy-cruisers, the Klingon ship Kh’ardath had ultimately emerged victorious, and now the commander of the Kh’ardath would take long-awaited satisfaction in obtaining bitter homage from the commander of the Federation vessel. Back home on Klinzhai, Krugh would receive many honors for delivering up then infamous Federation starship and its vast computer library of military information and Starfleet strength… and Starfleet vulnerability. At least, Kirk hoped, Scotty now in command would have the foresight to destroy the ship before it fell into Klingon hands.

Kirk was crumpled on the floor in fetal-position, still clutching wounded sex organs. He looked up at the ugly face over him. “Goddamn bastard…” he managed to choke out, face twisted in pain and rage. “… murdered my son… I’ll kill you… fucking bastard…”

Krugh snapped a sharp Klingon obscenity; spat in Kirk’s face.

Kirk winced, then both guards were grabbing him under the arms and hauling him to his knees. He cried out – pain lanced up from his genitals, zagged up his bruised spine, cramped spasmed muscles. He tried to double over. They held his wrists; one of the guards kicked him again in the tailbone, and Kirk slumped but could not fall forward. Helpless pain tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to release them in front of his captors.

Krugh stepped in front of Kirk, condescendingly close. Kirk refused to tilt his head back to look up at the enemy commander. Gloved fingers clutched a fistful of hair, and yanking his head back, threatened to snap his neck. He looked up, stared with angry wet eyes.

The Klingon towered over him, massive body clothed in metal-studded body-armor set before him. Long dark hair hung to Krugh’s shoulders; a scalp-lock gathered from the receded hairline fell in front of his right shoulder. The bearded brow-ridged face watched Kirk with chilling calm. There was a satisfaction in those ice-black eyes, but no gloating, no sneering, no patronizing jeer. Just absolute chilling calm.

Another rough jerk of Kirk’s head. “Yes,” the Klingon commander admitted carelessly, “we executed the son, and now we will execute the father. But not before we have killed the Vulcan mongrel in front of you as well… And perhaps we’ll show you the record views of your son’s death, so you can watch again, see what we did to him before we put him out of his misery.”

A father’s rage broke through in murderous insanity. “I’ll kill you, you stinking bastard! goddamn stinking bastard! you goddamn sonofaKlingonbitch!” Body convulsed against the restraining clutches. “Goddamn fucking sonofabitch!”

The two holding him shoved him face-down; his forehead cracked hard against the deck. Pain exploded in his head, his groaned, saw coruscating flashes before his eyes. Blood oozed down his upper lips from both nostrils, trickled from smashed lips. Then he was yanked back up to his knees only to impact his face against a fistful of metal-studded knuckles that spiked another jolt of agony through his head, ripped open previous gashes and abrasions. Then they let him fall face-down on the floor.

“Hold him down,” Krugh ordered his men. “Spread his legs. I’d like to see just how tender humans are inside.”

Kirk writhed vigorously, desperately, as the two jerked down his uniform trousers to his knees, then yanked his legs apart. He couldn’t even get his upper body off the floor. Krugh dropped to one knee by his face, letting Kirk see the electric prod in one gloved hand.

“I think I would enjoy hearing a Starfleet admiral scream,” the Klingon said.

A klaxon wailed…

… and Kirk yelled, jerked upright, body taut…

And looked about himself.

He was in his own front room, sitting stark upright on the couch. The corner lamp was on, and he was alone. Sweat drenched his body, heart still thudding from the grotesquery of the nightmare, respiration shallow, rapid. His ass ached badly as though he’d just been ram-rodded again for real, genitals ached with cramps. A half-sob escaped his lips.

“Bones?” he called. No answer. The doctor had been here earlier, but must have left.

Kirk wasn’t completely convinced that Klingons weren’t hiding in the shadows of his own house. He hadn't remembered falling asleep, but probably the alcohol had finally gotten to him, and the doctor had decided to let him nap. Evidently he’d removed Kirk’s boots and propped a pillow behind his head, before leaving him to sleep.

Now the emptiness of the house discouraged Kirk. He wished McCoy hadn't gone. The nightmares always left him shaken to the core of his sanity; and after inviting McCoy over, ending a month’s self-induced isolation, he suddenly didn’t want to be alone anymore.

The noise again – only it wasn’t a klaxon, it was his own door buzzer. So, McCoy hadn’t left after all – probably just stepped out for a few minutes while Kirk was dozing.

Still shaky, Kirk got to his feet and went to the door. “C’mon in, Bones,” he greeted again, opening the door… and stopped short.

Spock stood in the entryway, alone.

Kirk’s face registered surprise, then a choked throat threatened perilously as he managed his friend’s name on dry lips. “Spock! I didn’t expect you…” The tremors shook his whole body uncontrollably now – dammit, he hadn’t wanted Spock to see him like this – the shock of Spock's presence had startled him, and the nightmare still lingered close. “Come in.”

The Vulcan entered the room, weak legs assisted by a cane, dark robe swaying gently as he limped. His free hand took Kirk’s shoulder in an offer of moral support as well as physical, and Kirk allowed the Vulcan to assist him to the couch as he assisted Spock; and neither of them spoke until they sat side by side on the sofa. Serious dark gaze watched the human, and human gaze returned a haunted driven look.

Then finally breaking a four-week communication lapse, Spock inquired solicitously, “How are you faring, Admiral?”

Kirk just shook his head, eyes glistening with welling moisture, and admitted candidly, “Not too well, Spock. Nightmares. They’re just getting worse.”

Spock nodded sympathy. “I too have difficulty controlling my thoughts at night.”

“I can’t get Krugh out of my mind – I fall asleep thinking about him, then the dreams take over. I keep reliving everything he did to us three months ago. And I remember everything he did four years ago when he captured David and me… when he murdered David…”

Another calm thoughtful nod toward the tormented man. Spock could smell alcohol, had already been alerted by McCoy regarding their captain’s present state of mind. “I don’t know if I can ease you, Jim, but if it would help for you to talk, then I shall listen.”

Release of breath, difficult attempt to control shaking voice. “I’m not sure if it would help or not. I just spoke with McCoy earlier this evening. Did he call you and tell you to come over and keep me company? What time is it?”

“It is twenty-two forty-seven. The doctor thought that you should not be alone tonight. He urged me to stay with you. So unless you wish me to leave…”

“No… no, Spock, I’d like you to stay… I’m tired of being alone.”

“Did your seclusion accomplish its purpose?”

Lift of husky shoulders. “I thought it had… oh hell, I don’t know now. Did McCoy tell you what I told him? that I’m considering giving up my command?”

“He told me.”

“And?... McCoy tried to talk me out of it. I’m not sure if I want to be talked out of it or not.”

“I told you I am here to listen. If you wish to speak of it, we will.”

But Kirk changed the subject, quivering hand briefly touching Spock's robed knee. Beneath the material he could feel the molded leg brace. “How about you? How are you coming along?”

“I am better. Improvement is gradual – for all of us.”

“Yeah, that’s what they tell me.” A little flash of smile in an attempt to belie the bitter overtones, but Spock didn’t believe it, and Kirk dropped the pretense. Gaze fell, voice tightened again. “It hurts, Spock.”

“I know.”

“… I’m glad you came. Bones said that you were deliberately staying away out of courtesy for my desire for solitude, waiting for me to initiate an invitation to you. I never really meant that you should feel unwelcome. You’re always welcome here – you know that. I just had to be alone for awhile to do some thinking.”

“Doctor McCoy said that you were afraid I would read your mind if we were together.”

“I didn’t want you to know what Krugh did to me, how he shamed me… what he made me do…”

“All three of us were tortured. There is no shame in that.”

“I know… But I screamed for you, even though I knew you couldn’t do anything about it. I lost control.”

“I heard you… heard your mind, as well as your voice.”

Gathering moisture burned hazel eyes again. “I’m so sorry, Spock. I’m so goddamned sorry.”

But Spock only shook his head.

Touching Spock's knee again, Kirk asked, “How is your recuperation coming? How much longer will you have to wear the braces?”

Spock opened the robe slightly to expose part of one leg braced from hip to heel. “The physician informs me that it may be another four to six weeks. The bones of both legs were shattered.”

“It’s a miracle that you’re walking at all – it’s only been a few months since…” The rest of the phrase caught in Kirk’s throat – gradually he calmed himself, moved away from the disturbing memory. “I suppose you’re using your healing meditations.”

“Yes. I remain in trance for six hours a day. I am guided by two Vulcan healers, T’Kat and T’Lyssa. They augment my power and keep it channeled while my mind heals along with my body.”

Kirk slumped back against the couch. “I just wish _my_ mind would heal. My body’s just about back to normal – or as normal as it will be from now on, according to the doctor… The muscle tremors – the doctor says I’ll probably have those for the rest of my life, the electric probes damaged my nerves pretty deep. But my mind is shot to hell… goddamn…”

“Jim, perhaps I could help. Please allow me to join with you.”

“A meld? Uh, no, Spock… thanks, but I feel a little hesitant to let anyone into my mind just yet… I know McCoy said you want us all to join in a healing meld…” He released a breath, pressed both hands to his face as though to drive back the tormenting visions within his mind. “There’s so much garbage in me right now… all I can think about is Krugh… He made me watch recorded images of what they did to David four years ago…” Voice tight, shocky; muscles trembling. Abruptly he leaned forward to pick up the nearly empty liquor bottle on the coffee table, emptied it into his glass. “Did you ever see the transmission that Krugh sent to the Enterprise back then?”

Spock shook his head. He knew that while he had been in seclusion on Vulcan four years before, Kirk and his son had been kidnapped by Commander Krugh, but by the time Spock had been informed and returned to the Enterprise, Kirk had already been rescued. The young man had not been so lucky.

And Spock knew that when Krugh had carried out torture-murder, the Klingon commander had made sure that the Enterprise bridge-crew watched the grotesquery on the view-screen before them as it happened aboard the Klingon cruiser. He had never seen the recordings because Kirk had sealed them soon after the rescue, but later Doctor McCoy had quietly informed him about the effects on the crew who could not turn away from the repulsive horror televised before them: half-a-dozen cases of violent nausea, Uhura and a young ensign near the age of Kirk’s son in near-hysterics, and Scott in the command chair, withdrawn in near spastic agony, face shocky-pale.

And Spock had gone to Kirk then, and Kirk had not broken at that time, but later Spock had found him in his quarters, drunk and sobbing a father’s inconsolable grief. And Spock would have murdered the Klingon commander right then, without one thought of remorse, if the situation had ever presented itself.

And now, once again, the father was anguishing over the old unreleased horror, and could not hold back the choke in his voice. “Do you know what Krugh did to David before they killed him?” he reiterated. He drank down the alcohol, set the glass down hard on the table.

“Jim,” Spock soothed, touching a gentle hand to Kirk’s arm.

  
_to be continued_ …


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many times, how very many times in all these years had Spock been there, silent support whenever needed, always giving more than he took, protecting, guiding… and how many times had Kirk neglected to thank him, compensate him… love him…?

And now, once again, the father was anguishing over the old unreleased horror, and could not hold back the choke in his voice. “Do you know what Krugh did to David before they killed him?” he reiterated. He drank down the alcohol, set the glass down hard on the table.

“Jim,” Spock soothed, touching a gentle hand to Kirk’s arm.

Kirk seemed not to notice. Elbows on spread knees, forehead resting on clasped knuckles, he took a deep breath, let go a sigh. “At first Krugh beat me in front of him, made David watch. David begged for me… my son got down on his hands and knees for me, pleading with Krugh to take him instead... god, I’d’ve taken ten times the punishment if it would have saved David.”

“Krugh knew that,” the Vulcan interjected quietly. “That’s why he did what he did.”

“Krugh let him abase himself, then took him up on it… left me alone to work on David… told me I had to surrender the Enterprise or he’d kill David right before my eyes… at first David yelled at me not to give in, that he could take it… but of course he couldn’t, and I knew he couldn’t… He tried to be brave for me… but within a short time, Krugh had him screaming… and he cried for me to help him, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t surrender the ship, not even for my own son…” Tears were leaking out to roll down the maturely-fleshed face. “…I just had to listen to him scream for me and beg me to help him… oh god, I offered myself to Krugh… I told him he could do anything to me if he’d just let David go…”

Spock reached a hand to the tense quivering shoulder.

Kirk was enmeshed in his own pain, hardly aware of the warm hand offering comfort. “… But Krugh just said he could do anything to me anyway… what he wanted was the ship… said that David would die if I didn’t give him the access codes… I refused… and so Krugh…” The father’s voice broke off sharply, eyes glassy, muscles rigid.

Spock's touch channeled emotional support to the tortured man. “Jim, you know that I am not a father, so perhaps I cannot fully understand what you are going through now, but I am sure that a parent’s grief for a lost child is perhaps the deepest pain of all.”

“… and the hell of it is, I was only a parent to him the last two years of his life – for the first twenty-six, I was a stranger. I deserted him in life just like I did in death.”

“You didn’t desert him in death. You know that Krugh meant to kill him no matter what. And in refusing to surrender the ship, you saved hundreds of other people’s sons and daughters and par­ents, each as priceless to their families as David was to you. And I am also sure that in whatever di­mension David now exists, he knows that too and understand your motives.”

“That’s too metaphysical for me. I’m not sure at all.” Tight voice barely above a whisper. “All I know is I can’t stop thinking about it and dreaming about it… and I’m losing my mind…”

Warmth increased through Spock's touch. “Let me try to ease your distress.”

Now Kirk looked up at his companion. “You want to rearrange my memories though a mind-link?... I’m not sure that’s the answer, Spock. Pain isn’t meant to just magically disappear…” An impatient hand ran up his face, back over his hair. “… but how can I retain command of the ship when the pain is just eating me alive inside?... goddamn, Krugh really did a job on me, didn’t he?”

Spock only answered calmly. “And what does Doctor McCoy have to say about your condi­tion?”

Some of Kirk’s intensity dropped away as he admitted, “He says we all need a good long rest and recuperation, and then we’ll be able to get on with our lives again.”

“And haven’t you always trusted the doctor’s judgment?”

Kirk nodded shortly, briefly, if only half-convincingly, then the nod turned into a shake of head, and he lifted a hand to shield tightly closed eyes. Voice gasped, close to breaking. “I don’t know what to think.”

In a rare gesture of affection, Spock touched Kirk’s forearm, tightened his grasp as if to afford support to the tormented man beside him, and announced, “I do trust the doctor. He has never been mistaken, has he?”

Another slight shake of head; then deliberately moving his arm beneath the Vulcan’s touch, Kirk clasped the strong slender hand for a long silent moment, knowing that Spock was feeling the uncontrolled tremors of Kirk’s damaged muscles and the horror in his ravaged mind, and making up for it with his own Vulcan strength. How many times, how very many times in all these years had Spock been there, silent support whenever needed, always giving more than he took, protecting, guiding… and how many times had Kirk neglected to thank him, compensate him… love him…?

“Jim,” Spock urged again gently, “allow us to meld. I will not erase your pain, but I can take the edge off of it so that you can think clearly once again. As long as you are under stress from the memories and nightmares and lack of sleep, you are not centered enough to make any life-changing decisions. Allow me to relax you enough to sleep without the torments.”

“Spock…”

“I would go no further than you wished. You know that I would never violate your privacy.”

A bitter tug of lips. “My privacy has already been violated – Krugh saw to that. How can I command the crew, knowing that they all saw me like that?”

“Jim, it doesn’t matter what the crew saw or didn’t see. I am still your first-officer and they are still your crew. Many of them have spoken to me and told me to tell you that they want you back as soon as possible. You are still our captain.”

“I don’t feel like a captain right now.” Kirk just shook his head, slumped back against the couch again. “I just don’t know, Spock. But you’re right – I can’t make any kind of decision, career or otherwise, the way I feel right now. I’m so goddamned frustrated… and I’m so tired… I’ve got to get some sleep without the nightmares waking me up all the time.”

“Then allow me to assist you,” the Vulcan offered once more, rising from the sofa and reach­ing for Kirk’s hands. “Come to bed. You won’t feel so distraught after you’ve slept well. I can help you relax, and then – when you are ready – you will ask me into your mind of your own volition, and I will ease your pain. Please, Jim.”

Hesitantly Kirk allowed Spock to pull him to his feet, then compliantly strolled toward the bedroom, Spock following.

Spock walked into the bedroom’s half-bath, leaving Kirk by the bed. “Please undress, Jim, and lie down. I shall give you a back-rub.”

“That sounds good,” Kirk replied. He heard Spock rustling around in the bathroom. He really was glad after all that McCoy had talked Spock into coming over. When he’d told the doctor earlier that he wasn’t ready to see their mutual friend yet, he’d been lying to himself. And McCoy had know it… damn, that man was almost as telepathic as a certain Vulcan. And oh, goddamn, Kirk cared about the both of them more than he was willing to admit.

He unbuttoned his blouse, pulled it off, then undid his pants. Maybe he’d really be able to sleep tonight – he needed it so badly.

Spock emerged from the bathroom, holding a bottle of skin lotion. He too had stripped off outer clothing, now dressed only in a lightweight short-sleeved short-legged undergarment and the leg braces. Stiffly he limped to the bed.

Kirk lay face-down on the large double-bed, clad in nothing but a pair of black briefs. Spock sat next to him, poured some lotion in one hand, and directed, “Relax now, Jim, and allow me to work your body.”

Kirk obeyed as best he could, folding his hands beneath his right cheek. Spock touched him, hands resting on his shoulder-blades, then began in circular motions to rub the lotion into his skin. A spontaneous moan of relief sighed from the human’s throat, although he couldn’t stop a series of in­voluntary tremors which shivered through his limbs just then at the touch. A wave of frustration washed over the nascent sense of pleasure… damn, what Krugh had done to him – was it going to be like this the rest of his life? never again in control of his body, his mind?

Strong fingers squeezed twitching muscles, a deep raspy voice soothed once again, “Relax, Jim. You are no longer under Krugh’s influence. He can never harm you again.”

“You sound like McCoy,” Kirk commented, tone tight with distress. “That’s just what he told me earlier.”

“Then I think you should follow the doctor’s advice.”

Kirk felt his shoulders knot despite the massage. “It’s hard to forget two hours of needle elec­trodes stabbed into your joints, and a Klingon prick jammed up your…” Every muscle in his body tautened, and he shook with a near-palsy.

Spock said nothing, but interrupted the massage briefly to grip shaking shoulders. Then his fingers stroked firmly either side of Kirk’s cervical spine, slid over shoulders, arms, then back up again, skillfully seeking certain pressure points along the way, touching precisely, until Kirk’s body noticeably relaxed beneath Vulcan hands. Then leaning down close to a small rounded ear, Spock asked, “Jim, are you feeling better now?”

“Yes,” Kirk was finally able to acknowledge, but didn’t want to make the effort to say any more. The Vulcan touch had left him limp and tingling all over, and once again, he felt Spock begin massaging, gently rubbing shoulders, ribs, flanks. His body rocked slightly in rhythm with Spock's firm rubbing. The physical contact felt so soothing, so supportive. A flat hand moved over the planes of his back, no longer massaging hard, but rather stroking, gliding now.

“If at any time you wish to go to sleep, please do so,” Spock suggested.

“You’re making it very had to stay awake.”

“Then I am succeeding in my intentions.” Warm strong fingers squeezing, working, almost sensual in their ministrations.

“Spock,” Kirk murmured drowsily against the pillow, “if you want to meld with me, go ahead. Just… be careful… please…”

“I shall be very careful,” the deep husky voice assured gently. One hand lifted from smooth thick back, slipped up to warm temple and cheek.

Kirk felt finger pads press lightly in the familiar meld position, felt the pulse of his temporal artery in counterpoint to the rapid light pulse in the contacting fingertips, felt warmth radiating from the large hand against his face, felt that warmth seep into his brain, into his mind. Always a queer sensation, the meld: tingling, pleasant, like a wet trickle washing over his essence, then a bright spar­kle like sunlight on a creek when a common thought, idea, was intersected and passed over.

… _Jim_ … the mind-voice spoke to him inside his head… _you know that you can sleep now_ , _your subconscious mind need no longer stand vigilance against Krugh_ … _Krugh is dead now_ …

… _I know that_ … Kirk acknowledged silently… _help me, Spock, please_ … _help me release it_ … _help me release David_ …

… _David is still alive and whole on another plane of consciousness_ … _his immortal self was_ _never touched_ … _your mind need no longer stand vigilance over him either_ … _he is protected_ …

… _but why couldn’t I protect him then_?... Kirk insisted, and suddenly dark memories surged up, images of a young man’s broken body destroyed piece by piece by a Klingon disruptor, and the father but a few feet away; and now Kirk did cry once again, sobbing with grief and frustration, and he begged his friend… _take it away, Spock, take it out of my mind so I’ll never have to look at it_ _again_ … _why couldn’t it have been me_?... _god, why couldn’t it have been me_?...

… _I cannot take it away from you, Jim_ … Spock spoke through the gentle link… _you were right when you said that pain was not meant to simply be dissipated – it is meant to be experienced, assimilated, learned from_ …

… _but_ _this pain is too bad_ … _I don’t want it anymore_ … _please, Spock_ … _please please_ … _why couldn’t I protect him, Spock_? _why_? _why_?... Again the unanswerable question torturing the human mind – and even the Vulcan winced at the flood of raw horrific images pouring through the link, and the human body on the bed fought and writhed against the onslaught, until the Vulcan took control, and carefully, surely, began softening the edges of the mind-ripping pictures; did not destroy them, but absorbed the worst of the emotional responses, attenuated the soul-poison, allowed sympathy and support to flow into the raw void, until the father’s sobs lost some of their agonizing wound-stinging salt, and mellowed into tears of release and healing; and Spock let them flow, let them wash out the festering debris of four years, until the body beneath his hands slowly relaxed, and mental and physi­cal cramps loosened, and the sobs drifted into soft moaning gasps for breath.

Then Spock released the meld gently, caringly.

“I’m sorry,” Kirk apologized, head turned away on the pillow as fingertips dried wet streaks on a very weary face.

“Don’t feel sorry,” Spock urged, hands moving back down over sweat-slicked shoulders. “Do you feel better now?”

“A little. Thank you.”

Spock nodded, let his healing touch wander down the spinal hollow. He continued to ease taut muscles.

“Spock,” Kirk said, folding his arms beneath his damp cheek, “I wish you could have known David better. He was a bright young man, with a brilliant mind…” Voice choked off abruptly.

“We shared several interesting discussions,” Spock answered. “Many of his theories in gene­tic engineering were revolutionary. Had he lived, he would have made a profound impact on the sci­entific community.” Strong bony fingers dug into re-tightening muscle knots. “Jim,” he suggested, “would it help for you to talk to David’s mother again? Perhaps you both need healing, perhaps you could help each other.”

“Carol,” Kirk spoke her name. “I saw her at the funeral service… You know, she delibera­tely kept him away from me all those years – she didn’t want him following in my footsteps, risking his life, leaving her alone… And then finally he and I do meet, and what happens, but he’s killed… and she’s alone after all… Damn…” A bare whisper.

“Jim…”

“After the funeral, we hardly had anything to say to each other… it was as though David’s death ripped apart any last threads between us… I’m sure she blames me for his death.”

Spock's hands rested on the other man’s shoulders. “Perhaps it is you who blames yourself.”

A deep breath. “I don’t know. Maybe.” A sigh, another whisper. “It hurts, Spock.”

“I know.”

“Spock…”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being.” Curly head settled more comfortably on pillowing arms. “Just for being.”

“Always, Jim,” deep voice murmured. “Always.”

  
* * * * * **FINIS** * * * * *


End file.
